


A Mighty Pain

by Foophile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Imagined sex, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s one thing to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you and another, more painful, experience to be constantly in the presence of an unrequited love.</p><p>Originally written in 2008 for Round Eight of Rounds of Kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mighty Pain

It’s one thing to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you and another, more painful, experience to be constantly in the presence of an unrequited love; to be trapped with someone who both causes you utmost joy and the deepest pain.

But it’s still another, more tragic and rare occurrence, for that someone to be your brother.  
~

Since Dean’s been back they haven’t been apart more than the minutes it takes to use the bathroom or fetch food and snacks for the other. Sam hasn’t minded the closeness, not since that angel Castiel gave Dean his divine task and Ruby went running like the devil she is. His brother had been dead, cold in the ground, for four months after all and just as his absence had felt like missing his heart, regaining him was like taking a deep breath after being smothered with a pillow.

Dean on the other hand…

“Hey Sammy, watch the beer for a while won’t ya?” Dean gives his signature lady killing smirk over to the scantily clad brunette who’s been eying him up for the past fifteen minutes. Sam’s been watching their silent conversation the whole time and, as a frequent observer, has been waiting for his brother make his move for a while. The girl’s hooked, line and sinker, and before Sam can even respond Dean’s sauntering over, his bowlegs describing in graphic detail how perfectly the rest of his body moves.

Goddamn, Dean’s been back in the land of the living for less than two weeks and he’s already jumping in with both feet. Then again, Sam thinks, maybe he should have been in awe that Dean’s lasted as long as he has.

All alone in their booth, Sam lets himself slump the way he’s been wanting to all night. His beer tastes like dirty water and he puts it aside with a grimace. The drolling country music the bar’s been playing on repeat all night seems to swell and penetrate Sam, dagger-like, right between the eyes.

He tips his pounding head back and enjoys a momentary relief when it bounces off the paneled wall of the booth. Sam would leave, wants to desperately, but Dean would have given him the keys if he’d planned to be long and Sam doesn’t want to navigate the dark streets of this new town by himself, not in the mood he’s in. It would really be better for everyone if he stayed put. But now he’s left with his thoughts.

Sam knew what was going to happen the second Dean mentioned getting a drink at the local watering hole. It always happens because there’s just something about his big brother. Something as intoxicating as the strongest alcohol in this place and, Sam would argue, sometimes even more so.

When Sam first fell, years and years ago, he used to think that Dean’s cocky attitude was what dragged in the legions of women and men who flocked to his brother with an almost obsessive intensity.

Yeah, Sam thought then, his brother was attractive – beautiful even – but on a bad day even Dean’s pouty lips and green eyes couldn’t make up for the snarky attitude and overall pessimistic demeanor. His brother could be downright mean and Sam couldn’t forget rude; Dean was one rude motherfucker pretty much all the time.

It wasn’t until Sam left Stanford that he really understood what it was that he fell in love with. See, when Dean’s happy, that really rare happy that Dean hasn’t truly been since he’s come back from the dead, he literally glows. His child-like enthusiasm is infectious and has sometimes been the only thing to bring Sam out of his deepest depressions. And beneath, between, and threaded through it all is something that has belonged solely to Sam much longer than he’s been aware that Dean’s been providing it: his unconditional (brotherly) love.

Before Sam died and Dean sold his soul and then Dean… (Jesus, how is it that he can say it for himself but not for his brother?) Well, whatever.

Before, Dean’s devotion, his terrifying protection, had been the only thing keeping Sam from running away after their father died. That and watching his brother self-destruct. Sam knew that it was finally the time for him to step up and show some of the love he’d been keeping so well-hidden. Dean had been so fractured that he’d completely missed the long looks and the aborted touches that comprised the pain of that last year together – or if he had Dean never confronted Sam about it.

Dean isn’t tactful in the best of times and Sam imagines that his big brother bringing up the question of whether or not Sam is hopelessly in love with him wouldn’t come out well.

Emerging from his thoughts, Sam doesn’t realize how melancholy he’s become until a group of girls pass his table laughing. He’s not sure how much time has passed but he takes an unfulfilling drag from the warm beer bottle in front of him. The glass mouth tastes different, not like his own saliva, and Sam closes his eyes for a second, licks his lips that have inadvertently touched where his brother’s have been.

Longing shoots like a lightning bolt through his body and his cock goes from comatose to wide awake in less than sixty seconds.

Then Sam sees him. In the caramel light of the bar and the neon glares of the beer signs overhead, just the man’s silhouette is visible until he moves away from his corner booth. He’s a few inches shorter than Sam, therefore still taller than most of the crowd, with short bushy brown hair and eyes so dark that they have to be brown. Sam would be on his guard and wonder if they were really demon black but those devils have been staying away from him of late.

To be fair, the only reason why he notices the man is because he’s staring at Sam like a cannibal who’s gone a long time without a meal. Sam’s been stared at before but not with such hunger in a long while, at least Sam doesn’t think so. He hasn’t really been looking.

But this time, Sam’s looking hard because if he tilts his head and squints his eyes just enough, the man looks a tiny bit like Dean through the veil of his lashes – tall and broad shouldered with thin tapered hips and legs that, okay, aren’t bowed but look strong in tight jeans and black boots. The man’s wearing a vintage style Led Zeppelin t-shirt that his brother would have criticized the hell out of, but the simple fact that Dean would have both hated and been a little jealous of the shirt makes up Sam’s mind.

It also helps that when Sam looks around for the unmistakable figure of the real thing, he catches Dean wandering out the back door with Little Miss Conquest’s thin arm around his neck. He caught Dean only once in the middle of a back alley tryst and still hasn’t been able to scrub the images from his mind (not that he was trying).

As the man approaches Sam’s table from across the bar, Sam gets a flash that is in no way prophetic and exactly how Sam wants to have this man on the worn motel comforter in their room. On his stomach preferably, with those long legs curled under him so that his ass is easily accessible and Sam can look down the muscled line of his back to those shoulders that mimic those of his brother.

He can already see how the sweat drenched hair at the back of the man’s neck would curl like Dean’s does after a five-mile run. His pale skin would glisten in the moonlight coming through the motel window and even though the voice wouldn’t be the same, no one could sound like Dean, Sam can imagine that the muffled moans pushed into his bed’s pillows would grow gravelly the deeper Sam grinds into his body.

The sounds alone could drive Sam out of control, the same way they did when he “accidentally” watched his brother fuck a no-name waitress in the middle of the afternoon behind a deserted diner. The girl had been nearly silent with the force of his big brother slamming into her but Dean’s bursting grunts, his breathy moans…God, Sam hasn’t slept with a man in almost two years but if he doesn’t get his hands on the Dean look-alike in the next few seconds he thinks that he might explode.

Then, of course, because even though God loves Dean enough to yank his unbelieving ass out of Hell He absolutely hates every demon-blooded molecule of Sam, Dean comes back to the table all rosy cheeked and shining from the quickie.

Sam’s momentarily mesmerized, his brother smells like sex and leather, a rich sweet musk that makes Sam more uncomfortably aroused, but once his brother sits he sees the man (who doesn’t look anything like Dean when compared to the genuine article) make a face and turn right back around.

He’d only been a few steps away.

“Goddamnit,” Sam mutters.

“What was that?” Dean asks his voice loud over the music.

Sam discreetly rubs at the bulge in his jeans and again pictures satiating himself in a tight hot ass, drowning in endless skin that tastes like honey on his tongue and feels just rough enough under his fingertips that he’s not afraid to hold on tighter. He doesn’t use the substitute in his mind; the man under him is all Dean, on his back with his chest heaving, the bold lines of his tattoo a perfect match to Sam’s own.

The Dean in his mind would be bossing him around, wanting it harder and faster, and Sam would do every damn thing he asked. Dean would crack a few dirty jokes that would make him hotter then grunt through an orgasm that Sam would make sure would be the best his brother ever had. Afterwards, even though Sam wants to fantasize that there would be whispered endearments, he knows that Dean would go right back to being his over protective self and that Sam would have to hug him tight, maybe even shed some tears, to keep the brawny man from fleeing their bed, to keep him wrapped up for the rest of the night until the dawn.

The morning after would be a whole other gauntlet.

A steel booted kick brings Sam painfully back to reality. Dean’s concerned frown swims into his vision.

“What wrong with you?”

Sam rubs his bruised leg. “You just kicked the hell out of my leg for starters.”

Dean pulls a face. “No man, I mean you seem weird tonight. Did you see something? A demon?” The question of Ruby goes unasked but Sam knows that Dean’s been tipped off that she’s not quite dead. He suspects Castiel’s been watching him.

“No, nothing. I’m just…” Sam trails off when he sees the Dean look-alike pass by, he’s trailed by another man, short and fat, and they’re both heading for the men’s bathroom.

“Horny?” Dean fills in, following his gaze.

Sam starts and looks at the two men again. Can Dean see the resemblance, he wonders, or is he just picking up on the gonna-get-some vibes that they’re projecting? Does it matter, a tiny voice in his head asks. He can never have Dean the way the wants, and if his brother has failed to pick up or chose to ignore Sam’s infatuation thus far then it’s obvious that he isn’t wanted. Not in the same way.

The thought is enough to wane Sam’s arousal even with Dean smelling so good next to him.

“I’m tired.” Sam finally says.

Dean gives him a closer look, almost disbelieving, then grabs Sam’s beer off the table and finishes it with a few deep swallows. “Alright. Then let’s call it a night.”

His big brother’s up and heading towards the front door before Sam can grab his jacket. He follows in Dean’s wake, looking forward to the reality of having Dean only a few feet away sleeping in cold bed sheets of his own.

END


End file.
